The time has come – The Pattison Pundit is announcing his retirement from the blogging world.

There, there…take a minute to gather yourself.

The truth is, my inspiration and motivation for writing this blog has simply waned. When I started doing this, it was because of my passion for sports, but it was also a medium to try new styles, enter my voice into the Philly Sports Lexicon, and to learn what drew people’s attention or attracted various crowds.

I’ve learned a lot.

But in terms of blogging, I’ve gone as far as I care to go. That being said, I really like this whole sportswriting thing. So much, in fact, that I am going to grad school for journalism, in the hopes of one day appearing in Philadelphia’s Daily News or Inquirer. (Though in this marketplace, I’d settle for the Bismarck Tribune, at least to get started).

The Pattison Pundit will return.

So dry your tears, I say. This isn’t “goodbye,” it’s “seeya later.” Hopefully, I will be moving on to bigger and better things. Hopefully, the Phillies will trade for Roy Halladay. I’ll be working my ass off to make sure that the first one happens, and I’ll be crossing the hell out of my fingers, praying that the second one does. I really want to do that whole WFC thing all over again.

To those who supported the site, my deepest thanks. It’s been a blast.

It’s been raining a whole lot in Philadelphia lately, and I don’t think it’s only Mother Nature’s doing. Had you looked very carefully toward the sky throughout the week, you would have seen the sun blotted out by arrows of discontent shot heavenly from the Delaware Valley. That pitter-patter of rain was actually quite nice, as it drowned out the harrowing sounds of grown men shrieking, women groaning and children crying well into the night.

The wait is over – the Pundit has returned. And there it is, the roaring clap of six hands, as the three people who actually visit this site stand up and raise their voices in jubilation. Your “lazy” Pundit was in fact quite busy attempting to find a new apartment and wrapping up the details as he heads off to grad school in the fall, all while attempting to watch every single Phillies game. But now he has returned, and has a few things to say to Mr. McNabb.

As most of you know, Donovan McNabb had the final two years of his contract reworked, earning him an additional $5 million or so. Yippie. And as many in the blogosphere/media market are privy to, the deal offers the Eagles a lot of flexibility, in that the biggest chunk of his guaranteed money doesn’t kick in for the second year of the contract until May 5th of next year, meaning that if he sucks it up this year, he can be released or traded without them taking a major hit. And if he lights it up, or at least stays at the level we’re accustomed to, they can extend him and try to move Kolb if they so desire.

And, more importantly, if anybody wants him.

Call it what you want – a monetary make-up kiss, a sound business decision, a way to spend all of that money that they can’t possibly spend. We can argue about the implications of this move by the Eagles and McNabb until the cows return to their residences, going from green to blue in the face trying to predict the future. Continue reading →

Can we play the Nationals every day? That would be nice. Stealing home was Werth it this week. I love it when bunts lead to two runs, including the go-ahead late. Be sure to check out a Philadelphia Union soccer game this year – I expect them to have a striker-heavy attack. Why does Roger Clemens continue the charade? W.C. Heinz, Red Smith, Granny, where have you gone?

Most people agree with the sentiment that the form has lost its creative luster…we have so many forms of media with which to get our information that the newspapers simply carry less water now…the good ol’ days of sportswriting are dead because society as a whole is faster and 3000-word profiles make Generation ADD’ers go cross-eyed…we already know so much about the event and the athletes and the behind-the-scenes that we aren’t all that taken by it anymore…blah blah blah blah blah blah.

Seems to me as though we’re not having this conversation if sportswriting hasn’t in fact gotten stale.

As a means for raw data, that isn’t the case. You want stats, you can get stats friggin’ everywhere. Ever been to titforstat.com? Probably not, because it doesn’t exist. But it should. The newspapers are chock full of analysis and meaning; problem is, the Internet has that, too. Your grandma likely has a blog analyzing her favorite sport, and your grandpa is surely breaking down YouTube film. Might be less intelligent then what the sportswriters offer, but it is out there, and it is certainly taking some of the focus off of the beat guys. You can get the man-behind-the-player info from the newspaper, but not exclusively. Sportscenter is slowly turning into Access Hollywood, PFT.com dabbles in National Enquirer fare on occasion, and athletes NitTwitter about their feelings during games.

It’s information blitzkrieg, and there is a laser dot between your eyes. Take cover. Continue reading →

Sixers need a new coach – give me Avery Johnson. Samuel Dalembert and Willie Green for Andrei Kirilenko? I’d do that yesterday. Ray Emery to the Flyers? Only if he keeps his gloves on. Jamie got rocked by the Mets again. Still, the Fightins are hitting. Last year, pitching came early, hitting late. Hopefully, this season is just a bizarro version of the last. Little drama for the Eagles this week. Rare. But such is not the case all over the NFL…

Despite the fact that Favre is sticking to the “I’m actually retired this time” story, reports linking him to the Vikings have been running rampantly across my television and computer screens, embedding themselves into the rather large section of my brain that thaws again every Spring. Will he or won’t he? Should he or shouldn’t he?

After journeying into the savage heart of Bluebell and surviving one of its plastic country clubs – all in the name of Phillies-Mets tickets – I was quite peeved on Sunday when the game was rained out. Why, God? As were my three comrades. We decided that the best way to channel our negative energy would be to go and eat at one of South Philly’s fine establishments, the Black and Brew, a solid coffee shop with excellent food. And all was just honky-dory until an absolute atrocity entered the shop.

A Mets fan.

What madness was afoot here? Who dares to not only enter South Philadelphia donning the Devil’s colors, but decides to patronize one of its businesses? You might as well piss on a cheese steak, pull the plug at Boathouse row and call Rocky a sissy – you’ve already committed the most heinous of acts.

May God take pity upon your soul.

Very quickly, our table became ornery. Eyes slit. Fingers menacingly rolling over the glass-covering of the table. Eggs bitten into with the added emphasis of force and rage. Wisps of steam from hot coffee blown away in measured bursts, an obvious strain of self-control forming upon the face.